Touch of Dawn: A Rise of the Dawn fanfiction
by Mina In Blue
Summary: In the beginning, Dawn kissed the land, breathing into it life where it was lifeless. When the Dawn rises once again over the world, four humans will begin the path that will serpetine through time... “And our night drowns in dawn, amidst all tears there'
1. The Beginning of the Beginning

**The Beginning of the Beginning**

**  
.**

_A Dragon watching over _ben'narri. _How ironic. _

The bite of winter curled over the air. The cold had cleared the sky, leaving it wide, dark, and pricked with stars. It was cold enough to freeze the grass, cold enough to burn the tip of your nose with cold.

_Not yet cold enough to be truly dangerous._

But winter would come, and with it, the dangers of living in the high north. The _ben'narri_ brayed from down the hill, their cloudy bodies huddled together against the chill. _Ben'narri _were built for the cold, rocky weather; their hooves were wide and hooked and their black bodies covered with a thick layer of fleece.

The Dragon lay across the grass, her fingers interlocked behind her head. She closed her eyes, taking a long, last breath of autumn. _How quickly the seasons pass now. Midwinter is only two moons away. _She rolled onto her side, the long platinum braids spilling like white snakes across the half-black of the grass. Closing her emerald eyes to the darkened forest, the Mil'vardea breathed again, the soft smell of grass and cold filling her lungs.

_The seasons will continue to ease by, the years filled with no meaning, no life. Just soft, monotony touched by Midwinter and Midsummer festivals. Then I will die an old warrior woman, telling, then retelling the tale of how I slaughtered the Great Dragon of the North. How I became the Mil'vardea. How I did nothing else worth noting through the rest of my life but raising _ben'narri _and watching over my brothers' children._

The Dragon curled in on herself, the hard earth cool through her even the lined leather of her corset. _No man would ever take the Mil'vardea to be his wife. I am something to inspire awe, to be worshipped, not to be touched._

_Damn this place._

One of the _ben'narri_ cried out softly then settled, as if waking from a dream. Mil'vardea shifted again, settling into a more comfortable position on the grass. She watched the stars from beneath a curtain of blonde hair, her mind full and unhappy.

_Blessed twins, my gods and guardians: I don't pray often… Please, tell me what you have put me here for. I need some kind of sign… _The night curled around her, the darkness dappled with stars. Then slowly, softly, the stars faded into the true black of sleep.

A _ben'narri _mewed softly, shifting closer to his companions as the wind picked up, blowing cold from the north.

* * *

Clouds lined the sky like gray cotton, and the usually streaming sunlight was broken and weak. The normal flairs of color form the market had been dulled down to broken halftones. The glittering gold coins resting in Vrandel's hands were lackluster on that gray day. 

It was the same, lifeless umber his whole life had become.

The fine strands of his hair tumbled over his eyes, messy and unadorned. Vrandel reached forward with too thin fingers, grasping at his wine goblet; there was no point to any of this.

Grief shook through his hands, staining his skin with tears and abuse.

_I wish I had died… I should have died…_

The salt air blew in from the north, strong enough to pull at the curtains, and make a wild tangle of the merchant's silver hair. The wind brought with it the sounds of the ports, the sound of the coming storm; the sheet of gray clouds bubbled and throbbed with waiting rain. Storms such as this were rare in the desert, and this would be a blow to remember.

_But it doesn't matter; nothing matters anymore. _Tears flow, raging down Vrandel's features like the rain. _This world is cruel, crying with me, when it is the one who took everything from me in the first place…_

In the midst of the chaos and the rain, Vrandel leaned across the bright wood of the table, falling asleep to the sound of the rain and his own tears.

* * *

The sun was harsh. 

As it always was, on the outskirts of the jungle. The trees reached to the sky, stretching up into the azure infinity. Bryth climbed the slow, circular stairs to his treehouse. His hawk settled, rustling his feathers, then resettled on the thick leather on Bryth's wrist, as if impatient.

"All in good time, my feathered brother. All in good time."

Sharp, stinging claws bit into the leather, brushing the skin of his wrist. The yellow-green of the hawk's eyes burned with intolerant impudence, a physical manifestation of his wild temper. _He is fair polite most of the time, but the moment he gets hungry, the foul humor of his returns. I suppose I'll never quite break him of it._

The rabbit Bryth had stored in the cellar was sufficient for dinner for the hawk, and the Bryth's feathered brother fell asleep, one wing covering his eyes. _A servant will be bringing my dinner along any moment now; I suppose I have time for a quick nap before Council tonight…_

And the couch _did_ look inviting…

* * *

"I come to thee as you call me." 

The incense billowed into thick, scented clouds, blurring the edges of Kaellin's vision. Carefully, she leaned forward, dragging her fingers across the surface until they found the tiny blade resting on the altar's surface. It felt heavy in her hands, the tip sharp and solid.

"I come to thee as you call me."

The words slip from her throat, the prayer engraved across the very surface of her soul. There was something at work today, some terrible energy that rumbled under her feet, half-awake; the sun was as clouded as the future, its rays feeble and insubstantial after their long battle through the clouds.

"Your voices ring through my soul, my mind, my heart."

Drawing the knife across her skin, Kaellin bite down on a gasp of pain. She could feel the blood slithering across her wrist like a snake, dripping down onto the stone altar.

"This is my offering, hear my call… Something stirs deep in the earth this day. Show me its meaning."

The knife tumbled from her fingers, clanking against the stone floor. Kaellin waited, her breath caught in her throat as the rumble from the earth turned into a soft hum. The buzz filtered up through the marble, rushing over her whole body, lulling consciousness from her eyes like the Sandman…

* * *

**Oh, good gravy. Another RotD fanfiction! Wow! I must be going insane. Enjoy, enjoy, my kiddies. You will see where this is going, very very soon. I promise.**

**:mina: **


	2. The Flight of the Mil'vardea

**The Flight of the Mil'vardea**

_One breath. Two._

It took far more effort then it should have.

_Blink._

Her eyes cleared after a moment. The stars blinked sleepily from their blanket of cloudless midnight. The grass was freezing under her hands, burning the naked skin of her fingers with cold. The Mil'vardea glanced around; the night was just as it had been. Even the _ben'narri _cawed sleepily to the night, swaying in time with their breathing.

_The world is calm. There was no cataclysm, no earthquake. So just what happened? _The Dragon closed her eyes, resting her throbbing head against her knees. _I was laying in the grass, just laying here, and then suddenly…_

_Something tearing, ripping through the delicate balance of space and time, crashing the four of us together. It felt as though I was suddenly four people, and I knew them, I knew their names and their lives._

Mil'vardea Vrandel Bryth Kaellin. _Those are all my names, but why so many? Who were those people?_

Reality settled in slowly, the calm braying of the _ben'narri _settling Mil'vardea's war-nerves down to something bearable. She sat, waited for the dream to sort itself out behind her eyes. The world was at peace and her soul absorbed that peace, drinking in the calm like starved roots. _Perhaps it was just a dream. _Even as her head said it, she could feel the rest of her body revolting against the thought. _So if it wasn't a dream, just what was it?_

Mil'vardea shifted, then lay down again, resting her head on her arms. The stars had shifted slightly, and the Dragon's Star rose from the south. _My star, the star of the Mil'vardea, something I don't feel I've earned just yet. Which brings me back to my original thoughts: just what am I supposed to be…_

She shot up, her eyes wide with a sudden understanding. _The dream… the dream came after I was praying… Perhaps, those people have something to with why I'm here. I need to find them. _The urge to pack up and leave burned through her conscious, beating like a heartbeat against the back of her eyes.

The remainder of her shift watching the _ben'narri _crawled by as Mil'vardea planned her leaving. _I will have to wait until Midwinter, do all of my goodbyes at the Midwinter festivals, then I can head out the next morning with no loose strings. _The thought of waiting that long grated on her nerves. _But at least I feel as though I have a purpose, even if I don't have a destination, per say. _She itched at her arm, absently, letting her fingers fall back to the grass with a quiet kind of bonelessness. _I think I shall head direct south to the desert realms, then take a ferry across the mountain waters to the grasslands… _She didn't question the ideas as they came to her; there was a punishment for questioning the gifts and Dreams of the Twins. _And as the wise one's say, the Twins have had a wonderfully long time to perfect tortures for our misdeeds._

The stars shone overhead, the Dragon's Star sparkling with mischief, and a quiet knowledge of the near future.

Midwinter crept closer, slowly, with the Dragon itching for this new adventure to get started. It took several weeks to gather everything she'd need and several more to get everything into traveling order. Leather and cloth had to be mended, bags packed, weapons sharpened or remade, goodbyes to be said. The village mourned for a whole week before Midwinter, their quiet sadness grating at the Dragon's mind. _They are acting like children; did they truly believe I'd stick around here forever, guarding their sheep?_

"And I'll be leaving the day after Midwinter." The Mil'vardea rolled another set of clean bandages and stuffed them carefully into her medic box. "I don't know how long I'll be gone."

The girl sat cross-legged on the Dragon's bed, looking thoughtful. _Sacred Twins, if she starts trying to guilt trip me, I'll never make it out of here. _

But after a moment of consideration, the little girl smiled, her soft, platinum curls falling forward into her eyes as she leaned forward. "The Mil'vardea has never been happy here. I know it, and all those who are know her at all know it. She is not one to run off without cause however; if the Twins have called, the Dragon answers. I will be sad to see her go."

The Dragon smiled, sadly. "Just as I will miss Mirka. I know she will take care of herself."

_She must be eight now, _The Dragon thought, with a start. _Gods, how she's grown. _She noted the tuned muscles under the girl's tunic and the wise look in her cloudy-blue eyes. _She is so different from me… I wonder if that means I was a good or a bad mother. _Mirka might have been her only child, but the Dragon had never really been good with children. The Dragon's sister Farra had raised her mostly, training her in the ways of the female warrior and _ben'narri _herdswoman.

The Dragon hugged her child awkwardly, a soft feeling of love rising in her heart. It was nothing like a maternal love for a child, but instead, the kind of love she'd always held for her sisters and her clan. _My sister is a far better mother than I ever could have been to her. Let Farra and her girls care for her. _

The girl threw her arms around the Dragon, tears in her child's eyes. There was nothing awkward in the way the girl showed her affection; Mirka would just fine on her own. She may have been a proper northern woman, but the girl was wonderfully balanced between the strength and the soft affection of the women of the North. _Rare to find one who is both; she will make some man very happy someday. Just like I couldn't._

The thought stabbed through the Dragon's heart, into that tiny part still dedicated to Mirka's father. _A wandering merchant, who just happened to wander across my village, just happened to beg for shelter at my door._

How many years had it been? _Eight or nine, I suppose. He was mine for a short time, and I followed him. I would have followed him until the edge of the world and back; I wanted to protect him, keep him forever. How silly of me to think it would work out that way._

She touched her stomach with tentative fingers knowing well the scar that ran like a snake between her breasts.

"The Dragon shouldn't worry herself. Farra will take good care of me." The tiny girl smiled, bring Mil'vardea back to the present.

She smiled in reply, unable to form words around the tears in her throat.

* * *

**Ahhhhh, chapter 2. Don't hold your breath for another chapter anytime soon, because it's... :drumroll: MIDTERM WEEK next week. Whooooo.**

**:mina: **


	3. Wide Open Ocean: A Dream

**Wide Open Ocean: A Dream**

_The wondrous lights of midwinter dotted the night like close stars and moons. They flashed green and red and orange and blue, filtering the darkness with a rainbow of colors. It was surreal looking, giving the smiling facings around the village strange skin and hair colors. When the lights became more clear, it would be easier to tell that everyone who stood in front of the altars had long, braided platinum-blonde hair, most falling past their shoulders and settling like white waves down the people's backs. They're bodies were completely covered in the homemade leathers and clothes made of the skin and cloudy fur of the _ben'narri. _She danced, but without the strong, carefree nature of her siblings, her tribe. There was something..._

_Long wood and stone buildings rose up like hills, the houses coated in moss, kissed over the tops with hearty winter-blooms. The Midwinter bonfires burned brightly, filling the immediate skies with thick gray smoke. Children danced and sang under the watchful, gleeful eyes of their parents, as spur of the moment duels between adults sprang up along the grass. Fighting, defending, guarding, and watching over the tough _ben'narri_, were the foundation of this culture, and had been for generations beyond recall, and the good natured sparring displayed the village's cohesive nature. Fights were clean, the loser bowing to the winner with good grace and injuries quickly forgiven. The entirety of the hill was in good spirits, and she felt out of place, her stomach knotted with some unknown tension; what could possibly bother her so completely?_

_A howling scream tore through an impromptu song, followed by scampering feet and another, louder yell, cut off suddenly. The villagers began to scatter like frightened _ben'narri_, in the face of the giant lizard. The Mil'var stood in the middle of the field, his scales flashing like purple fire in the sparks of the bonfire. The wind tore through its unfurled wings, giving them a life of their own. She faced the Dragon, watching as it lifted its foot, carrying with it a body. She could feel a scream struggling to free itself from her throat, could feel tears welling in her eyes as the body, his body, the body of her lover was lifted and shred to pieces, his wide, sightless eyes fixated on her…_

The Mil'vardea sat up, drenched in sweat and breathing as though she'd been running. The night was cool, the breeze heavy, carrying her wild platinum braids around her face like tiny snakes. The Dragon touched just below her right breast; she could feel the scar across her skin even through the _ben'narri _wool cloth over her body.

Tears welled in her eyes without warning, blurring the sight of stars and the blanket of midnight around her. The boat deck swayed beneath her, as if to comfort, rolling her body in the cocoon of sheets on the wooden planks; the deck was comfortable, far more so than the cramped, rot-ridden room she had been given.

Wiping tears away with impatient fingers (it would not do for the night watch to see her cry like a weakling!), she pulled herself to her feet, the long blankets wrapped closely around her body against the cool evening. _'Years and years and years ago. Why do I dream of that now?' _She looked down at the exposed skin of her hand, her wrist; tiny scratch lines ran along the pale skin, more permanent reminders of her battle with the Mil'var. _'That day I earned my name. My name and several weeks bedridden; those things they do not speak of when they tell heroic tales of Dragon battles and wars.'_

The night wrapped its long arms around her, stilling her mind and cooling her dreams. The ocean rolled peacefully, the air growing steadily warmer as they sailed further south; they'd been several weeks already on this course. It would be another whole week before they reached land. A land that the boatman called "The Desert Midlands." They whispered tales of huge cities, decked in wild colors and an array of different colored peoples. They said this "Methron" was the center of the world of trade, the center of power.

Mil'vardea could not even begin to imagine some of the sites the sailors tried to explain. From the long seas of sand to the buildings of white stucco that reached toward the sky like white teeth… Her mind could not fathom that kind of civilization. The very idea eluded her mind, having never seen any village but her own tiny town.

The stars shone on until the beginnings of dawn, the thick navy-blue darkness was pierced and killed by the coming of the sun. The very sight of the sun's rays warmed the heaviness in Mil'vardea's heart, banishing the lingering sadness of her dreams and lulling her back into the soft embrace of her blankets and sleep.

* * *

**Poor Mil'vardea. She is my favorite of the characters, which is why I started with her. She's quite the woman, really.**

**Forgive me if I get into the writing of this and some of the information is contradictory or lack cohesiveness. I'm trying to keep the facts all straight, but it's hard dammit!1 **

**Sorry, Inky, I know you wanted Mil'v to meet somebody this chapter. Perhaps next chapter? This was more of an "interruption" than a whole chapter. Sorry about the shortness. I'm trying to keep everything going this weekend. :sniffle: This cold isn't helping much. Yuck. Phlem.**

**Watched _Sense and Sensibilty. _Highly recommended. Love Alan Rickman in any movie, but he was so fun in this one, yay.**

**Have a wonderful weekend, and thank you for reading!**

**:mina: **


	4. Watching the Waters

** Watching the Waters**

"Thank you, Raelli. Please keep me informed." Vrandel pressed his fingertips into his throbbing temples as the servant left, bowing as his form disappeared into the shadow of the doorway. The merchant, seated at the low, desert-style table, shifted, irritation written all over the pained expression on his face. _'Great good Gods, what has happened to me?' _

The wind shifted, carrying the expensive, tapestry-silk curtains fluttering into the room. The sun shimmered off of the bead curtains, reflecting a spectrum of light onto the rough, sandstone walls; these rooms were cool and dark, meant to keep the daylight and the heat out and still allow for occasional breezes to blow in from the ocean.

Vrandel leaned back in his chair, letting the thick padding embrace his sore shoulders and cradle his aching back. This week, how had he survived it?

_'It's like an itch on my neck, like something is about to happen, but nothing ever does…'_

The merchant scratched idly at his neck and the soft, silvery hair he found there.

"My Lord?" The whisper was tiny, tinny. Vrandel glanced up, running his fingers nervously through his fine hair. The servant girl, dressed in a long, sequined dress of gold mesh and black, clenched her fingers nervously and cleared her throat. There were tiny bells grasping her thin ankles and wrists and jingled from the gold mesh overdress. The wide, exposed skin of her stomach was laced in thin black lines of her tattoo. The mark was of her status; it was a permanent caste system into which she had been born, and she was what she was. Content in her station in life, the girl served well and honorably the whims of her lord.

"Gylanda? Is there something wrong?" He beckoned her forward into the room. The servant girl inched forward, grace making her steps light on the carpeted floor.

Kohl lined the rims of her worried blue eyes, and she settled on the floor at her master's feet, her skirts forming a perfect circle about her legs. "I have never seen my lord like this." She glanced down at her hands, tangled in the colorful fabric of her skirts. "You are worrying the servants, my lord, first with your prolonged mourning, and now with your incessant searching. My Lord!" the girl cried, rubbing her hand against the skin of the back of her lord's hand, "you must allow me to help you. Tell me for what you so insistently search. You give me no duties; I…"

"Gylanda." That one word hushed her, but did not stop her sudden rush of tears. The woman knelt before him; Vrandel, in his mourning, had not even thought of this poor girl's fate. With the children gone and without Vrandel accepting guests into his home, Gylanda's duties had dwindled down to nothing, leaving her stranded, unable to leave her master's manor. Vrandel pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to press the forming headache out from between his ears. "My dear Gylanda. You have served me honorably and well for many years, since you were a child. I cannot thank you enough for the service you have given me, but I no longer am in need of a caretaker for my children." The words caught and clouded in his throat as he spoke them, tears pricking the edges of her eyelids.

"I am sorry, my lord, that I am no longer of use to you."

"Tell me where you want to be, what you want to do, and I will do what I can to make it so."

The girl was silent for a very long time, considering. Vrandel smiled with pride; he had taught her to think, to question. She was far brighter than most of the servants of his peers; she had enough of a mind to make sound snap decisions, and was a star pupil of his training. "I wish above all things to continue to serve you, but if you no longer have need of me, I can only wish for freedom. To be sent across the sea and be freed of this desert."

Vrandel smiled, placing a gentle hand on the silvery-blonde head bowed before him. "As you desire. I will send for a ship… Go and pack your things, Gylanda."

The girl stepped out of the room, her eyes shining with hope and unshed tears. Vrandel listened to the bells on her clothes shiver in the growing silence.

_'There is something in the air; it's been plaguing every moment of my life since that… that _Dream._' _Vrandel picked himself up out of the chair and stepped over to his window, looking down on the wild, market streets. Children ran across the packed dirt of streets, slipping hands into unguarded pockets and purses. Woman lined the streets, carrying large baskets and balancing infants on their wide hips.

The merchant watched without care or concern. The world would continue to writhe and flow with or without him; he felt separate and detached from the colorful streets.

It took him a moment to notice his eyes had moved to, then settled, on one particularly strange woman, walking wide-eyed in the market. She was overdressed for the immense, pressing heat. She wore leather from the tips of her toes up to the frail curve of her neck, every inch of her pale, northern skin wrapped in dull brown. Vrandel's wide eyes fixed on the top of her pale head, running over the length of her body. She looked…

Seeming to know she was under close scrutiny, the Northern woman looked up, her eyes meeting Vrandel's, sparks of recognition blinding them to anything else.

* * *

**Whoo rah. A little bit of a slow chapter, sorry. It'll pick up hopefully; I haven't been much in a mood to write lately.**

**Luvs!**

**:mina: **


End file.
